Wednesday, 30 August 2017

Moving into a new home starts with a bang when Ryan Blackwell celebrates turning thirty. Being hungover means he’s bleary-eyed and clumsy the next day, but even in that state, he can appreciate how sexy and fit his neighbour is.Matt Thomas isn’t looking for anything long-term—one and done is usually his life rule. Why settle down early, like his sister, when casual relationships are so easy? With Ryan living in the same building, chance encounters are inevitable. When one night together becomes two, a friends-with-benefits deal seems a natural progression.There’s only one problem: sex with no strings relies on matching expectations, so Ryan can’t help worrying. His huge heart always wants more, but Matt’s been clear about his limits. As passion leads to caring, they’ll have to make some tough decisions—maybe this time, breaking some rules will be worth it if that means they’ll get to share a future.

Excerpt

Nudging him once more, Josh nodded at the other side of the road. “Talking of which….” All four of them turned to look at the guy jogging towards them.

Wearing black shorts and a tight-fitting blue top, the guy looked fit. Broad shoulders, slim body, and firm thighs. Hard to guess his age from that distance as his hair was almost all a silvery-grey colour. As he got closer, Ryan got a better look at his face and… huh. Not that old—late thirties maybe.

The guy was either oblivious to the four men staring at him or didn’t give a shit. He jogged right past them and into Ryan’s building without saying a word.

Okay then.

With a rental van and a car full of boxes, it was obvious one of them was moving in. Didn’t that warrant at least a polite hello? Apparently not.

Annabelle Jacobs lives in the South West of England with three rowdy children, and two cats. An avid reader of fantasy herself for many years, Annabelle now spends her days writing her own stories. They're usually either fantasy or paranormal fiction, because she loves building worlds filled with magical creatures, and creating stories full of action and adventure. Her characters may have a tough time of it—fighting enemies and adversity—but they always find love in the end.

Garry’s at the end of his tether. He’s waiting at Glasgow Airport to meet his friend Will, on their way to a holiday in a Scottish Highlands hotel. Now there’s a ten-hour delay to incoming flights, the seat in the lounge is more like an instrument of torture, and he’s beyond tired of airport food.He’s also dreading having to apologise for the pass he recently made at Will, his colleague at a London bank, under the influence of too many beers and a long-held crush. Now Will’s been offered a new job offer on a continent thousands of miles away, Garry realises it may be the end of their close friendship—let alone anything more.To add to Garry’s stress, he’s treated to the company of Emily and Max, two young people who think he needs educating in the ways of the world. Struggling with their well-meaning help and the startling mess from spilled ketchup and noxious-smelling sweets, he’s encouraged to re-examine how he feels about Will and to decide what kind of journey he’d really like them to take together.Excerpt

Garry suspected he knew what tipped psychotics over the edge.

It wasn’t childhood trauma or thwarted world domination. Far from it! It was the agony of a plastic bucket chair digging into the back of your legs in the middle of a chaotic Arrivals lounge. Add to that the robotic monotone of the Glasgow Airport PA system offering “apologies for the inconvenience caused to those customers awaiting incoming flights from the USA,” and it was like salt rubbed into a wound.

He slumped back in the seat, his arms folded tightly across his chest. He could feel the scowl on his face etching into the muscles. There was noise everywhere—booming announcements over the speakers and the incomprehensible swell of people’s excited chatter. Kids shrieked, and suitcases rattled over the threadbare carpet. Rolling neon signs flashed up reminders to boarding gates, constant alerts to keep your bags beside you at all times, and then—almost as an afterthought—the price of the latest, must-have mobile phone package.

Airport lounges had to be one of the least comfortable places on earth. He hunched down farther, trying to nap. Like it’d be possible in this maelstrom. Bad mood, or what? He’d been up since the crack of dawn, maybe even before. He couldn’t exactly remember the time, as over the years he’d found that lack of sleep caused him, one, serious memory problems, two, to leave the house in an unmatched pair of socks, and, three, the unmitigated loss of his sense of humour.

He was jolted back to attention as a man hauling a heavy suitcase let it run over Garry’s feet. With a cry of pain, Garry wrenched his long legs back under his seat, but not before the wheels had left neat little tramlines over his boots. His toes felt bruised, and his mood teetered further toward homicidal. Luckily the perpetrator had taken a sharp left and vanished into the direction of the car hire franchises, else his suitcase—and probably his limbs—might have been scattered to the four winds.

Garry winced. So much for keeping your luggage with you at all times.

So… what was currently on his agenda? A too-early start; a wickedly uncomfortable waiting area; a psychotic bunch of fellow passengers. The bad omens were already stacking up. He’d arrived at Glasgow Airport rather travel-worn from his own flight from London Heathrow, preparing to meet up with his friend Will somewhere in amongst this mess of humanity.

Then he’d been greeted with the worst of news—a delay.

Ten hours? He felt like shouting it aloud, as in fact a few of the less self-disciplined airport visitors already had. What do they mean, incoming flights to Glasgow delayed ten fucking hours? He’d stumbled onto his own flight at some godforsaken hour of the morning to get to Scotland on time, only to find the connecting transatlantic airlines couldn’t meet the same punctuality. Ten hours! It was only late morning. Ten hours would take him on into the evening and a large part of the night. Ten hours of sitting on this seat, with nothing but overpriced airport snacks and the metallic xylophone tones of the airport announcer for company.

Okay, so yes, obviously, he was in a less than good mood.

But he had nowhere else to wait for Will. He couldn’t travel on to the Scottish hotel their mutual friend Allen had booked, because he didn’t know which one it was. Allen didn’t seem to be answering his mobile at the moment. Garry had tried seven times already, ever since the first announcements were made about the delay. And Garry knew that was the only number available, not just because Allen could be such a bloody control freak, but because Leonard—Allen’s husband—never even turned his phone on when he was travelling anywhere. Nor would Will be accessible, circling somewhere in the sky between the States and here. And if Garry left the airport to go anywhere else, he ran the risk of missing Will’s flight altogether. No, he knew he was effectively trapped between the proverbial rock and the hard place. In fact, he could feel the hard place biting into his arse right now, as he tried to get comfortable in his seat for the hundredth time.

Besides, what could he do but wait? He was here because his friend Will had specifically asked him to be.

His best friend, Will.

They were both flying in to Glasgow, ready to meet the rest of the gang. It was a long-held tradition, an annual holiday together in June, whatever their commitments for the rest of the year. Friends since university, there were around eight of them on any year’s trip, depending on who could get away from work. Allen was the self-appointed “manager” of it all, and this year he’d suggested they visit the Scottish Highlands, his own home turf. Garry had happily booked the time off, like he always did. He rarely had other plans that might conflict.

Allen always waxed lyrical about Scotland. Most of his multitudinous family had left the home country over the years, moving all over the world, making what sounded like starry marriages with entrepreneurs and lawyers. Even a Hollywood movie star in one case. But Allen had stayed, happy to find everything he needed right there—including the man he met and moved in with, several years ago. He and Leonard often made the trip north to the Highlands on their own. The hotel they stayed in had a fabulous view over Loch Lomond, and the highest star-ratings for food and comfort. And, this year, Allen and Leonard wanted to share it with their friends as well.

Everyone thought it was a great choice, including Will and Garry. Will in particular had always wanted to see more of Scotland. They both lived in London and spent a lot of their social time together, so they usually travelled the same route to the reunion holiday. This year, they’d arranged to fly to Glasgow, hire a car, then drive the rest of the way.

Author BioClare took the pen name London from the city where she lives, loves, and writes. A lone, brave female in a frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home, she juggles her writing with the weekly wash, waiting for the far distant day when she can afford to give up her day job as an accountant. Sheís written in many genres and across many settings, with novels and short stories published both online and in print. She says she likes variety in her writing while friends say sheís just fickle, but as long as both theories spawn good fiction, sheís happy. Most of her work features male/male romance and drama with a healthy serving of physical passion, as she enjoys both reading and writing about strong, sympathetic and sexy characters. Clare currently has several novels sulking at that tricky chapter 3 stage and plenty of other projects in mind . . . she just has to find out where she left them in that frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home.All the details and free fiction are available at her website. Visit her today and say hello!Website: http://www.clarelondon.comBlog: http://clarelondon.livejournal.comFacebook: http://www.facebook.com/clarelondonFacebook chat: https://www.facebook.com/groups/clarelondoncalling/Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/clare_londonGoodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/clarelondonAmazon: http://www.amazon.com/author/clarelondon

Tuesday, 29 August 2017

Joker, what a misnomer, but Jackson Webb’s friends were idiots. He’d joined Executioners almost three years earlier after the lead singer King caught him playing his guitar behind his garage. It broke up the monotony of his life, but once he got bored, he’d move on to another distraction. He wasn’t nice. He sure as hell wasn’t friendly. He was what he was, his friends handled his attitude and standoffish nature just fine. At thirty-eight he was pretty sure he was too stuck in his ways to change shit now. Demetri “Dem” Urban was settling into a new life in the middle of nowhere. Okay, he was hiding from everyone in a kitchen as far removed from his five-star kitchen back in New York as he could get. Gideon invited him to stay with him and his wife for a while just until he could get everything back on track. He didn’t see it happening, but he had to admit the scenery wasn’t bad even if the man had the personality of a rabid, man-eating bear. Dem did like a challenge and that fit Joker Webb perfectly.Author's Note: This story contains scenes of a violent nature, mentions of rape and torture (All off page from characters pasts) and severe abuse. If you, as a reader, find this objectionable or triggering in any way, you can skip this story without losing the transition to the next book.

Author Bio

J.M. Dabney is a multi-genre author who writes mainly LGBT romance and fiction. She lives with a constant diverse cast of characters in her head. No matter their size, shape, race, etc. she lives for one purpose alone, and that’s to make sure she does them justice and give them the happily ever after they deserve. J.M. is dysfunction at its finest and she makes sure her characters are a beautiful kaleidoscope of crazy. There is nothing more she wants from telling her stories than to show that no matter the package the characters come in or the damage their pasts have done, that love is love. That normal is never normal and sometimes the so-called broken can still be amazing.

Second Chances Nineteen-year-old porn star Remy Dawes loves his job at Matchmakers, a gay nightclub, but the fantasy he portrays every night doesn't leave room for what he really wants: companionship, love, someone to come home to, someone just for him. Who would ever take seriously a kid who practically sells his body for others' pleasure?

Thirty-five-year-old Chance Whitaker has sworn off dating younger men after having been cheated on one too many times, until the owner of Matchmakers convinces him to take a chance on Remy Dawes, a gorgeous kid who surprises Chance at every turn.

As things fall apart through meddling, death, and betrayal, will there be a second chance for two people to find love?

Second Drafts

Novelist Shain Ahren is committed to only one thing: himself. Living alone and having an endless string of one-night stands, Shain's carefully crafted routine ensures no one will ever control him again. But one trick he met at Matchmakers, years ago, he can't get out of his head.

Painter Elliden Crawford yearns to be controlled. Born with an extreme chemical imbalance, Elliden struggles to keep the fits at bay so he won't be a danger to others. Only once in his life did Elliden ever truly feel safe, just one night when he met a stranger at Matchmakers.

When Matchmakers brings them together again, Elliden finally gets what he needs, while Shain's world is thrown into complete disarray. Will Shain ever relinquish control, or will they be fated to remain a discarded first draft?

Second Place

Danny Berringer lives up to the name of his nightclub. Ever since he cheated on Bryan, the love of his life, he's been making up for it by helping others find love. He even matched up Bryan with Eric Grant, except Bryan's perfect marriage seems to have fallen apart, and Danny is dying to know why. He doesn't get couples wrong. Ever.

Bryan Landry had his heart broken by Danny, then had it put back together by Eric, but he can't have Eric anymore, and it's all his fault. He spends his nights at Matchmakers having random tricks and trying to avoid Danny, but the meddlesome matchmaker won't leave him be.

Thrown together through guilt, death, and temptation, Bryan denies his feelings while Danny clings to dreams of Bryan's forgiveness. Will Danny always lose, or can he win second place in Bryan's heart?

He’d been afraid of me, and I had used fear to keep him away until I couldn’t stand to be anywhere but close.Dante Heron has lived a life surrounded by pointless affection and impossible demands. Driven to the brink by his parents in pursuit of fame and fortune, he has learned to circumvent anything that would force him to feel more than he can stand. Until Chris. But then, he drove away Chris just as surely as he’d chased off everyone else.Lost and afraid of the truth of that rejection, Dante pines from afar—more used to suffering than facing his problems. However, his feelings continue to torment him and no matter how many times he wants to leave the past behind, it won’t let go.Publisher's Note: Magnetic is a companion book to the Treacherous Chemistry series and should be read after Volatile to appreciate the story.

Excerpt

The spotlight nailed me to the parquet, blinding as I faced an audience I couldn’t see. Drops of sweat ran in rivulets down the nape of my neck, caught by the white starch collar before they could travel farther. The steadfast rhythm from the orchestra pulsed through my blood, holding me grounded while my fingers pressed against the harsh strings of my violin, moving from place to place in a dance my mind barely followed. I simply played, pouring out every last shred of emotion I had from the bottom of my core. Emptying myself of everything.

As always, I was close to losing control. One slip, one finger misplaced, and the night would be ruined.

I could hear Mother’s voice in the back of my mind. Don’t fail us. We have sacrificed so much for you. I opened my eyes and saw her sitting on the front row, a frown on her forehead. Father sat beside her, clasping her hand as if to soothe her annoyance. They were never content, never proud. I wondered if they ever would be.

The cello section initiated the final build-up, stroking their strings with utmost care. I banished Mother from my thoughts, letting myself be swept away, carried in the moment. I had to succeed—and I would. The beast was mine to temper, reined in with the tips of my fingers.

You can do it. This time it was Chris’ voice, gentle and reassuring. Inhaling a rugged breath, I almost lost my focus. I couldn’t think about him. Not now.

The conductor moved the orchestra into the last part of my solo and I followed, clinging to the sounds beneath my bow. It was a desperate chase to the finish—a chase that had been thrilling in the past, but everything had changed since Chris had left after those disastrous days in Athens. I had been so angry. I’d felt betrayed and abandoned with emotions I hadn’t been able to handle.

Pushing myself to the limit, I held on until the audience broke out in applause. It was a tame response, not the wild cheers from a delirious crowd.

I had failed.

At any other time, it would have been mortifying. My stomach would have dropped and my heart would have thumped loud and scared. But I couldn’t feel a thing once the music had ceased. I was already numb.

* * * *

“You have got to take this seriously, Dante,” Mother snapped as she caught me off-stage. Lara, my sponsor or manager, or whatever it was she called herself these days, trailed behind and winced at my dear mother’s tone.

“I am,” I replied, even if I knew it was far from the truth. I didn’t care anymore.

“I heard you miss several notes. Do not disappoint us like that again.”

“I won’t.” It was an automated response, designed to avoid conflict.

“I know you’re still sulking about that boy, but don’t you understand now why I told you to get a grip of yourself?” She folded her arms across her chest. “He’s meant nothing but trouble and he would have ruined your career.”

“Mrs. Heron, please, not here,” Lara interjected.

Mother pursed her upper lip but said nothing. She knew it was foolish to cause a scene while the members of the orchestra still lingered around us. Keeping up appearances was everything to her. Producing a loud huff, she took my arm and steered me through the narrow corridor, aiming for my private dressing room. Not for the first time, I wished it was truly private and not a room where Mother, Father and Lara could enter at will.

After finding out about Chris, my parents hadn’t let me out of their sight. It hadn’t mattered how many times I’d asked them to go home. They’d refused, bringing up painful memories of what I had lost. Lara had tried to persuade them to leave me alone, but even she balked when it came to my parents. I resented her for it, almost wanting her gone, as well, but she still made herself useful by cushioning their attacks.

I was old enough to shut the door in their faces if necessary, but some part of me still wanted their approval, an approval I’d never gained as a child.

Lara opened the tall door, letting us inside the dimly lit room. Scattered candles gave it a muted glow but there was nothing warm about the atmosphere. Rooms like these evoked unpleasant memories, at least if I discounted those moments spent with Chris.

I clenched my fingers around the fragile neck of the Stradivarius. I had to move on. It had been Chris’ choice to leave—even Lara had said so. In my desperation to save him from my parents’ wrath, I had pushed him too far away from me, and now he was gone. Swept away like dust in a harsh wind.

I was the wind, and it pained me. I was poison, destroying everything in my path, something he should have known from the start.

The door shut with a loud bang behind me.

“You know we do this because we love you,” Mother said, her voice laced with forced maternal care. She excelled at the act, but I knew better. It had taken years to understand that she only said these things to pull the strings even tighter around me, and when Chris had opened my eyes to real love, I had finally thought that I could break free. But he’d left and she remained.

“You don’t do it because you love me,” I replied, strengthened by Chris even if he wasn’t around. It came out of nowhere, pushed forward with rush of adrenaline.

“What did you say?” Her tone screeched and bellowed at my conscience.

I turned toward her, meeting her harsh glare. “I said that you don’t do it because you love me.”

“How dare you!” She shook with anger, her face pinched into a sneer. The carefully crafted mask of makeup cracked at the edges and she raised her arm as if to slap me. She had done it before. Many times. Red marks left by harsh fingers, bruises around my wrists where she’d held me. Years of living in fear of unjust discipline.

Breathing deep, I straightened my shoulders and stared her down, daring her to take that last step. She lowered her arm, perhaps realizing that in a physical fight she didn’t stand a chance against a grown man. I had never done anything in retaliation, but maybe she understood that this time would be different.

I was sick of her. I was sick of Father. I was sick of them ruining the small scraps of happiness I felt while playing the instrument I loved. It was the same every time—they would point out the mistakes, always saying that I should have played better. However, they’d never been able to take my passion away, no matter how hard they pushed me. It was the only reason I’d managed to keep playing. I had learned to accept their anger and disappointment. I had even learned to expect it, but their disapproval had ultimately taken Chris from me and that was a different story altogether. I should have been stronger. I should have stood my ground to keep Chris by my side when they’d flown all the way to Athens simply to break us apart.

“Be glad that we’ve supported you all these years. You would be nothing without us.” She waved me off, approaching the side table to pour herself a glass of chilled champagne. Even angered, she would only drink one serving—too controlled to loosen up.

Lara gave me the smallest of nods, almost imperceptible to avoid Mother’s detection. She knew how hard this was for me, and more than anyone else, she wished that I would break free from my parents. In many ways I already had. When Lara had taken me in as a fragile thirteen-year-old boy to nurture my talent, my life had changed for the better. But she’d never had the power to protect me completely. My parents were always around in one way or another. Their words echoed across oceans.

I wiped off my instrument, handling the beauty with the reverence it deserved. It was the only relationship in my life that still worked, but a violin didn’t keep me warm at night. That role had been given to endless girls, but the vicious cycle of dead affection had dragged me down even further. I hadn’t noticed until Chris had entered my life and changed everything.

The reflection of a candle flame glimmered on the dark screen of my phone which stared at me from the table as if urging me to pick it up. I wanted nothing more than to call him, but it had been weeks and the more time that passed, the harder it became.

The first time I’d dared to call, desperate to hear his voice, Mother had entered the room, staring at me while Chris had uttered my name as if he’d been waiting for my call but had feared it at the same time. I hadn’t been able to say anything and her presence had reminded me of why I should just let it be. It was useless to stir up emotions when nothing would come out of it.

The second time I’d called, he’d never picked up.

Author BioRaised in one of the cold corners of the world, Avylinn spends her days either wrapped up in a blanket or basking in the precious sunlight. When she can’t choose herself, she’s holed up in an office working with climate research that has little to do with the worlds and characters she creates in her vivid dreams. Always the emotional one, she has found her outlet in writing, voicing thoughts, emotions and fears through her characters that feel very much alive to her. And, what began as a hobby soon took more and more time in her life until she realized that she had left her old life behind and entered a new one where her emotions turned into a super power—ready to launch at her poor readers. She recharges with the help of coffee, cinnamon buns, popcorn and occasionally a healthier alternative. http://www.avylinnwinter.com/https://www.facebook.com/avylinnwinter/https://twitter.com/AvylinnWhttps://www.wattpad.com/user/Avylinn

“I hated that I was like this, but after years of trying to work through it I was beginning to feel like I’d never be normal.” ~ CodyHiding the fact that I was in love with my best friend Isaac used to be the most complicated part of my day, until a chance meeting with a handsome stranger named Jonah sent my life into a tailspin. Scars from my past have stopped me from giving in to my desires for so long, but I’m done being afraid. I want both men. I just don’t know if I’ll be able to trust that anyone can love me.“I knew it was a bit messed up, but there was no jealousy or envy when I thought of my men together.” ~ IsaacI’ve loved Cody for as long as I’ve known him, but have always held back because of his past. Then I met Jonah and I knew there was no way I could choose between them. I want it all—the man I’ve loved for so long, and the one I’m quickly falling for. It’s not going to be easy, but nothing worthwhile ever is.“I wanted to believe it was all true, but I couldn’t push aside the fear that I was just a distraction until the two of them got together.” ~ JonahAfter having my heart broken I never thought I’d find love again. I wasn’t looking for anything real, and then I met not one, but two men I can’t resist. Isaac and Cody are everything I ever wanted but didn’t know I could have. I want to believe the three of us can work, but a part of me can’t get past the fear that I’ll be the odd man out, again. *This is Book 2 of The Den Boys series, but can be read as a standalone - no cliffhangers.

Excerpt

“So, start with Insidious?” I asked Cody as we flopped on his small couch.

“You’re evil.”

“What? We’ve seen it so many times you should know when the freaky parts happen. I could have said I Spit On Your Grave.”

“That movie was messed up, not scary.” Cody shook his head and took the beer I held out to him. “I’m never watching that one again.”

“True, how about The Grudge?”

“Fine, but I swear to god, if you change my ringtone to that creepy moaning noise, I’ll never speak to you again.”

I grinned and opened my computer to cue up the movie. We might be able to joke about that incident now, but at the time it had been anything but funny.

The first time we’d watched it together we’d only been friends for about a month. I’d waited until Cody had fallen asleep then downloaded the moaning sound the demon character made as his ringtone. Then I’d snuck into the bathroom, blocked my number and called his phone. We’d been at my place that night, and he’d flipped out.

I’d felt terrible at how badly I’d scared him. I’d thought he’d get a good laugh out of it and that would be the end of things, but he’d been so freaked out he hadn’t been able to sleep for hours.

That was the night I’d learned a little bit about Cody’s past, and why he hadn’t handled the joke well. It wasn’t so much the ringtone that had scared him, it had been waking up in my bed alone, scared and disoriented.

It had taken a few more months for Cody to open up and tell me more about his past, and every time he told me something new my heart broke a little bit more for him. Even now I’d learn about something he hadn’t told me yet, and I’d wish I could take away his pain.

The more time I’d spent with Cody, the more I’d realized that he was an incredible person. He wasn’t just sweet and kind, he was caring and fiercely loyal. He was also beautiful.

At five-nine he wasn’t short, but with his slender build and cherubic face he seemed so much younger than twenty-one. His big blue eyes were wide and expressive. He wore his blond hair shaved close on the sides but long on top, so it was constantly falling over his forehead and brushing the tops of his cheeks if he didn’t continuously push it back. Everything about him was so beautiful it was almost painful, and it hadn’t taken me long to fall in love with him.

If he’d been any other guy I would have asked him out on a date, and gotten to know him as a romantic interest instead of as a friend.

Author Bio

A.T. Brennan, who also writes under the name Mandie Mills, is a romance and erotica author. A native of Ottawa, Canada, she enjoys picking up and moving from city to city every few years. A former member of the Canadian Armed Forces, current entrepreneur and freelance writer, she enjoys spending her days working on her many projects and her nights writing and not getting enough sleep. Currently she lives on Canada's East Coast with her family, both two- and four-legged. She enjoys collecting books and exploring the different sides of romance and romantic expression in her works.You can visit her at www.mandiemillsauthor.com, or on Facebook at A.T. Brennan Author, and also at Author Mandie Mills.

Monday, 28 August 2017

Trevor Larson is a Navy brat. He’s used to moving every few years, and thanks to social media, he can stay in touch with the friends he leaves behind. But shortly after he leaves Okinawa, his best friend, Brad Gray, cuts off contact and disappears.

Four years and two bases later, Brad resurfaces—and announces his family is coming to Trevor’s base in Spain. But a lot’s changed in four years, and Trevor is stunned to find out Brad is now Shannon. Their reunion isn’t quite what either of them had hoped for, but they quickly find their footing, both relieved to have each other back.

Except nothing is ever all sunshine and roses. The military is a small world, and there’s no keeping Shannon’s transition a secret. Parents warn their kids away from her. She can’t attend school on-base for fear of harassment or worse. And although her parents try to hide it, being ostracized by their only social circle while they’re thousands of miles from home is taking a toll on them too.

More and more, Shannon leans on Trevor. But she’s also drawn to him, and he’s drawn right back to her, feeling things he’s never felt for anyone before.

Trevor’s scared, though. Not of dating a trans girl. Not of damaging his chaplain father’s career or reputation. After finally getting his friend back, does he dare take things further and risk losing her a second time?

Rav Miller looked into the terrified, intelligent eyes of the chocolate Labrador on death row, and knew he’d do anything to save him. When the dog, Sammy, escapes and heads to Mad Creek, Rav follows. Mad Creek. The town had become legendary in Rav’s mind after he’d met that bizarre group last year. Rav dismissed his crazy suspicions back then, but when he arrives in Mad Creek, he knows it’s true. Dog shifters exist, and apparently they all live in the California mountains. It’s enough to blow a bad boy’s mind.Sammy has something in common with Rav—neither one of them trusts people. After Sammy’s abuse as a dog, he particularly dislikes tough-looking men like Rav. But when Sammy gets a chance to work with rescued dogs at the new Mad Creek shelter, his deep compulsion to help others overcomes his fear. Rav and Sammy bond over saving strays. If they can each find the courage to let someone else in, they might find their way to love.Sheriff Lance Beaufort doesn’t like humans moving into Mad Creek, especially not the tattooed and defiant Rav. When Rav starts a rescue shelter, the town thinks he’s wonderful! But Lance isn’t fooled. He doesn’t buy Rav’s innocent act for one second. How much does Rav know about the quickened? What is his game? And why did he have to show up now, when Lance and the other town leaders are overwhelmed by all the new quickened pouring in?Rav knows how to save a life. But can he save an entire town? Can he rescue Mad Creek?

Eli Easton has been at various times and under different names a minister’s daughter, a computer programmer, a game designer, the author of paranormal mysteries, a fan fiction writer, an organic farmer, and a long-distance walker. She began writing m/m romance in 2013 and has published 27 books since then. She hopes to write many more.As an avid reader of such, she is tickled pink when an author manages to combine literary merit, vast stores of humor, melting hotness, and eye-dabbing sweetness into one story. She promises to strive to achieve most of that most of the time. She currently lives on a farm in Pennsylvania with her husband, two bulldogs, several cows, and a cat. All of them (except for the husband) are female, hence explaining the naked men that have taken up residence in her latest fiction writing.Website: www.elieaston.comTwitter: @EliEastonEmail: eli@elieaston.com

Saturday, 26 August 2017

Will Marsden is a man on the run from his memories and his past. Steward of Denton Manor was a good position until Captain Dearne, the owner, lost the manor on the turn of a card. When the feckless Dearne is dumped unconscious and near death on his doorstep, Will grudgingly accepts an enormous sum of money to care for him.Dearne regains consciousness but has no memories of how he came to be in the bed of a dark-haired, angry, but gorgeous man or how he came to be so badly injured.When nightmares drive Dearne into Will’s arms every night, the attraction between them explodes. As Dearne battles with lost memories, he is forced to accept the fact that someone in his family wants him dead, and Will is forced to confront his past head on. Will the revelations uncovered tear them apart?

Will returned with a bag and pulled out the salve and some more linen. He quickly washed and dried his hands, and then busied himself with unwrapping him, eyes firmly fixed on his thigh, although his hands felt a little unsteady. Dearne adjusted his shirt when his cock twitched at his gentle touch. Any budding arousal was swiftly truncated though when Will pulled off the pad of gauze, sending red hot agony through his entire body and Dearne couldn’t stifle yet another high-pitched shriek. “Sorry, sorry…” Will put his hand on Dearne’s arm and held on tight whilst he brought his breath under control. He hardly dared look at his leg. “It’s not too bad,” Will said, so he peeled open one eye and squinted down. It was healing well. He presumed the pain was simply from dislodging the scabs. He breathed more evenly as Will dipped a cloth in the warm water that had been left in the rooms for them and bathed him. He relaxed fractionally. “It is healing well,” Will said, drying him and then smoothing the salve over the wound. He replaced the old pad with a new one, then wound the makeshift bandage back around. “We could see if there is a physician in the town? Perhaps you should see someone who knows best how to deal with injuries.” Dearne shook his head. “It is doing just fine. No need to involve anyone else in our escapade.” Will smiled at that. “We have a couple of hours before we eat. Why don’t you sleep.” Dearne watched Will fold the old bandages and then wash his hands again. When he turned around and looked at him, lying on the bed with no breeches or smalls, he felt oddly exposed and for some reason, that excited him. Beneath his hand his cock hardened. He let himself relax against the pillow and watched Will’s jaw tighten and his eyes become fixed to his groin where he still cupped himself beneath his shirt. His whole body flushed as a surge of need tightened his skin. Will felt it too, judging by the bulge in his breeches. “Will…” His voice was low, husky. “Don’t.” Will closed his eyes and swallowed. “Don’t.” “Don’t what?” Will opened his eyes, those beautiful dark eyes, and Dearne was shocked to see misery in them. “You know what I mean.” Dearne looked pointedly at Will’s groin. “Why?” “Because it’s wrong.” “Wrong?” “Yes, wrong. I can’t go through all that again. I can’t.” He turned away and picked up his bag. “I’ll see you for dinner.” “Will?” He paused momentarily by the door as if he would respond, but then yanked it open and left. Dearne flopped back on the bed and groaned. * * * * Will sat on the edge of his bed. His whole body trembled. He held his hands before him and watched them shake before jamming them under his armpits and rocking. His heart was pounding as though it might burst out of his chest and fierce longing made his entire body ache. He screwed his eyes closed and willed the need to go away, tried to think of sad things, horrid things, the pain, the shame, but all he could see was Dearne laid on the bed, hand on his cock. Those long, strong legs finely dusted with hair, that watchful smile that crept out at odd moments, and his eyes. Christ, his eyes. Ever since the morning they had woken and, half asleep, he had kissed Dearne’s shoulder, run his tongue over those freckles that sat like gold dust on his skin and he had begged him for more, all he could taste was Dearne’s mouth. All he could feel now was Dearne’s mouth. All he wanted was Dearne’s mouth. He wrapped his arms around his middle and bent over until his head almost touched his knees and barely recognised the keening sound that came from his mouth as everything threatened to spiral out of control. He didn’t hear the door open, he didn’t hear Dearne until he sat beside him and put an arm around his shoulders. And try as he might, he didn’t resist when Dearne pulled him into his arms. They sat, side by side, with Dearne holding him awkwardly, and Will pressing his head onto Dearne’s shoulder and gradually the trembling subsided. “I don’t suppose you want to talk about it?” Dearne said. “God, no.” Will shuddered. “Thank Christ.” Will glanced up and Dearne offered him a crooked smile.

Author BioMy name is Ruby Moone and I love books. All kinds of books. My weakness is for romance, and that can be any kind, but I am particularly fond of historical and paranormal. I decided to write gay romance after reading some fantastic books and falling in love with the genre, so am really thrilled to have my work published here. The day job takes up a lot of my time, but every other spare moment finds me writing or reading. I live in the north west of England with my husband who thinks that I live in two worlds. The real world and in the world in my head...he probably has a point!Facebook - Ruby MooneTwitter - @RubyMooneWriterWebsite and Blog - www.rubymoone.comEmail – rubymoone@gmail.com

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